The Informant
by bammi1
Summary: Bobby is doublecrossed by an informant
1. Chapter 1

_Part One _The Informant

Nicky Jackson thought he finally had it made. Ramon Trillo had finally called for him. He thought he was a big deal double agent, a regular 007, when in fact he was nothing more than a small time stoolie. His main job was running interference for Ramon Trillo, a once smalltime racketeer who's business was rapidly growing. He was also an occasional informant for the NYPD; hence his self-proclaimed moniker (known only to himself) as the new "secret agent man".

Ramon Trillo was head of a few organized crime operations headquartered in the back room of a deli on E. 142nd St. His dealings included extortion, gambling, and of course, narcotics, with the occasional murder thrown in. He was now one of the most powerful men in the city.

So, as Nicky waited for Trillo to show up, he was slightly apprehensive. He'd been told to get his ass over here quick, that Ramon Trillo had an important job for him. This was the first time that Ramon had actively sought him out, and Nicky was both excited and a little scared. Now Nicky waited, growing more and more nervous by the minute. In his mind, he went over everything, to make sure there wasn't anything he could have done to piss Trillo off. He could think of nothing, he was absolutely loyal—well, except for that one time. And he was sure Ramon Trillo knew nothing of that. Or did he?

Finally, Ramon appeared, accompanied by his number one and number two men, who coincidentally served as his bodyguards. Ramon looked at Jackson like he was a useless piece of crap who needed to be put out of his misery. He stared at Nicky intently, making him squirm uneasily. Then, matter of factly, Ramon announced, "Nicky, I think maybe you've been two-timing me".

"What? No, Ramon!" Nicky protested. "I wouldn't do that!"

"Now you're lying to me." Ramon looked at one of his henchmen, who immediately put a gun to Nicky's head.

"Ramon, please! I been nothing but loyal to you! I swear!"

Ramon considered him, and let him sweat for a while. Now he had Nicky just where he wanted him, and maybe, just maybe, he could use him after all. "Yeah? Loyal, huh? Well let's just see how loyal you really are."

"Anything, Ramon! Anything!" But he wasn't prepared for what Ramon Trillo would request: the murder of some hot-shot detective on his tail; some smart-ass who was closing in rapidly and threatening to shut down Ramon's lucrative businesses the hard way.

"I want you to take down some scumbag cop." Ramon said it like it was nothing.

Nicky was shocked. He had never killed anyone before; as tough as he _thought_ he was, murder had never entered his mind. He might know of others who had done it, but never him. He wasn't a killer. He was even more shocked when he heard the name; he knew this guy, had once given him some information for a case. The man he had orders to kill was Bobby Goren.

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Bobby Goren sat on a turned-around chair in his office, staring at the wall of crime scene pictures. Bobby, officially Detective First Grade Robert Goren, was lead detective for the Major Case Squad in New York City. Bobby was a brilliant, extremely intuitive profiler who had an uncanny knack of getting into the criminal mind and wringing a confession out of a perp. Bobby was one of, if not **_the,_** best detective the NYPD ever had.

This was an exceptionally tough case, but Bobby and his partner, Alexandra Eames, were making good progress. But not as fast as their captain, Deakins, wanted. Deakins was really taking heat on this case. And he, in turn, was giving it back to his detectives.

As Bobby continued to examine the pictures, his partner, Alex, poked her head in.

"Hungry?" she asked.

Bobby finally took his eyes off the photos to look at his partner, then at his watch. It was almost 3 p.m., and neither one of them had eaten all day. Bobby suddenly realized he was ravenous.

"You running?"

Alex nodded. "The usual?" she asked rhetorically.

The "usual" for Bobby was a large Italian hoagie with hot peppers, a coke, and anything else Alex chose to throw in.

Alex returned about 15 minutes later to find Bobby on the phone. She only heard the last bit, "Just hang in there, I'm on my way! Fifteen minutes—at most!" She started to hand him his sandwich, but Bobby held his arm out, palm first, to indicate "no".

"Put it in the fridge for me, okay?" At Alex's puzzled expression, he explained, as he hurried out the door: "Informant. Think he's wanting to back out!"

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Bobby stepped into the dingy bar where the meeting with the informant was supposed to take place. He scanned the room as inconspicuously as possible, so he would not draw any attention to him or his informant. But like in most murky barrooms, it was dull and smoky, making it difficult to see. His weapon, a Glock, was holstered where he could get to it quickly, if need be.

After a minute or so, the informant still didn't show. Something didn't seem right. Either the informant decided to take off anyway, or… The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and his left hand reached for his Glock. Bobby never heard the roar of the gun, nor did he see the flash; all he felt was the impact as the first bullet hit him and he was slammed into the wall. Momentarily stunned, he recovered quickly and wasted no time going for the gun. To his surprise, his arm wouldn't move, and he suddenly felt a horrible pain in his arm and shoulder. And there was blood. Lots of blood.

Bobby tried to scramble for cover, but there was no time; another boom, and again Bobby was slammed violently into the wall.

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Back at One Police Plaza, Alex watched as their captain, Deakins, approached. He looked agitated, and she thought, "Oh, God, here it comes."

"Where's your partner?'' he asked.

"Informant", Alex answered. "What's up?"

"I just spoke to the Chief of Detectives. Who just spoke to the deputy mayor. And both of them want some answers. Maybe Bobby's informant can supply some… You know, a little—"

"Good news wouldn't hurt" Alex finished for him. They'd heard those words often enough.

Deakins stared at her for a few seconds then continued, "When he does get back, I want the two of you in my office—ASAP!"

Alex watched as he returned to his office. _Just_ _great. And where the hell was Bobby?_

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The first shot hit Bobby in the shoulder, shattering the clavicle. The second shot struck him somewhere just below the chest, the bullet snaking through his body, like a white-hot knife, cutting, searing his insides.

Bobby was lying on the floor in the bar. For some reason, he couldn't get up. He couldn't move his left arm at all, but his right hand was what, holding his stomach? He was so surprised; it was warm and sticky.

Around Bobby there was all kinds of commotion, police, medics, but he was only vaguely aware of it. Nor did he care. He was in incredible pain-- his insides were on fire; he'd never felt such intense heat. And the pain in his shoulder was absolutely unbearable.

He wished all these people would just leave him alone. He was _so _tired, all he wanted was to sleep. But they were all yelling and continued to push him and prod him. Why couldn't they just let him sleep? Didn't they know they were making it hurt even more?

In and out of consciousness, Bobby saw faces looming in front of him, first one, then another-- _God—is that Dad? Am **I** dead? Oh God it hurts! It's not supposed to hurt anymore._

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Alex was on the phone, checking out another possible lead. She could see Deakins on the phone, talking animatedly. He then hung up the phone, and stood there looking at it stupidly, like there was something wrong with it. Then he turned and walked quickly over to Alex. He was white as a ghost.

"I'll get back to you," Alex told the person on her line. She was suddenly very scared.

"What!" she asked Deakins as soon as he arrived. "It's Bobby, isn't it?"

Deakins could hardly speak. "Alex…Bobby…he's been shot."

_Oh God, not again!_ Alex had gone through this once with her husband, who'd been killed in the line of duty. She couldn't go through this again, with Bobby.

"Is he …okay?" she whispered, barely daring to ask.

"I don't know, Alex," he said as they hurried to the elevator. "A guy from the one-six is there. Says it looks bad, he thinks they hit him twice".

The other police who had found Bobby joined Eames and Deakins in the hospital surgery ward. They gave an explanation of what they thought had happened; the general consensus was that he'd been hit bad, and offered words of sympathy and encouragement. "Hang in there…he's gonna make it…he's strong".

Alex nodded her assent, but was actually too numb inside to comprehend fully. She was scared to death of losing Bobby. Bobby could be a real pain in the ass sometimes. But he was _her _pain in the ass. They'd been together now for over 5 years; not romantic, but closer than husband and wife. Much closer than friends; they shared everything from lunch to middle of the night phone calls. Together they put their lives on the line everyday; either one would gladly take a bullet for the other. Simply put, they were partners. There was no way she could bear to lose Bobby. No way.

The long wait began. The receptionist, sensitive to their situation, promised them that the minute there was any news they'd have it immediately. Deakins got coffee for himself and Alex, and tried to engage her in some conversation. Finally Alex just broke down and cried, something she hadn't allowed herself to do since the death of her husband.

After a while, things got quiet, and everyone settled into their own space, awaiting the fate of their colleague, their friend, and their partner.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

The characters of Robert Goren, Alex Eames and James Deakins do not belong to me.

The Informant Chapter 2

Nicky Jackson was feeling pretty good about himself. It had been pretty scary, his first time ever shooting somebody. He'd been scared to death, but now that it was over, he could relax and just enjoy the spoils of his work, which in his case had been $2,000, with another $2,000 tomorrow, plus the fact that he had finally proven himself to Ramon Trillo. In retrospect, it really hadn't been so bad; maybe this killing stuff gets in your blood after a while.  
Nicky was so proud of his work, he just had to tell someone, anyone, but he didn't dare, at least not yet. He was about ready to burst. Hey, maybe they'd show his handiwork on the news tonight! 

Nicky switched on the TV just in time to catch the 11:00 news.

"Our top story tonight…" Nicky listened in fascination as the newscaster started, "One of New York's Finest was shot today in Brooklyn in an apparent murder attempt. For more on this, we go live to Linda Rafferty at Mt. Sinai Hospital. Linda?"

A frown crossed Nicky's face. _Murder attempt? What was that about?_

"Thanks, Tom" Linda Rafferty continued the newscast. "I'm standing here outside Mt. Sinai Hospital in Brooklyn where earlier today Detective Robert Goren was brought in suffering from severe gunshot wounds. Reports are sketchy, but it seems the detective was following up on a lead when an assailant apparently appeared from nowhere and gunned him down. So far there have been no reported arrests in the case."

"Linda, can you tell us anything about Detective Goren's condition?"

" Tom, the last report we heard was that Detective Goren was in very critical condition."

"Thanks, Linda. You'll keep us posted on any new developments?" 

"I'll do that, Tom. This is Linda Rafferty, WITZ Channel 2 News."

Nicky couldn't believe his ears. _Why the hell wasn't that bastard Goren dead? Just what the hell did it take? _Nicky was starting to get nervous; throwing the remote at the TV he started pacing. "Very critical condition" he repeated. _What the hell does that mean? Critical condition meant really bad, right?_ Nicky got himself a beer and thought back to the shooting. Finally he started to relax a little, and smiled. Yeah, he got that son-of-a-bitch **_g o o d._**

Ramon Trillo heard the same broadcast, at home with his wife while his three children slept upstairs. He was not a bit happy; however, with his wife sitting next to him he had to keep his emotions to himself. But inwardly, he was furious. Even though the verdict on Goren wasn't in yet, he realized he'd been stupid to trust that incompetent Jackson to something so big. Stupid!

He'd give it another day, and if Goren weren't dead, well, he'd just have to get the job done himself. It was not an option. If Jackson actually had botched the job, it could all be traced back to him. **That **was not going to happen. Ramon had finally gotten where he wanted to be in the world, through hard work (and illegal activities) and some worthless stoolie or smart-ass cop weren't going to ruin things for him.

The surgery seemed to be taking forever, which in fact it was. Bobby had been brought in about five P.M. the night before; it was now nearly six A.M. Alex and Captain Deakins were both totally exhausted. Deakins tried to get Alex to sleep a little, but Alex refused. She didn't want to sleep while Bobby could be in there… She refused to even say the word.

Soon after a grim looking doctor in blood splattered scrubs appeared. Everyone moved to him expectantly. Alex was visibly shaking.

"Are you with Detective Goren?' the doctor asked. They all nodded their assent.

"I'm Doctor Adams," he said, introducing himself. "I was part of the team that operated on him. It was a rough surgery," the doctor started, "but if things stay the way they are, it looks like he's gonna make it."

A loud "whoop!" came from the other policemen in the room. Deakins exhaled deeply (how long had he been holding his breath?) and Alex started to cry again.

Deakins hugged Alex. "Honey, this is _good_ news," Deakins told her comfortingly, but if one looked closely, they'd see a few tears in his eyes, too.

Dr. Adams waited patiently, he knew what an emotional experience this was for them all.

At last Deakins broke his hold on Alex, and looked to the doctor. "So how bad is it, Doc?"

"Well, I can say he's very lucky. The bullet missed his spinal cord by a half-inch. It did damage the liver, and completely destroyed the spleen. There's a large amount of tissue damage and he lost an incredible amount of blood. We…uh…lost him once…"

Alex gasped, and the doctor continued. "The bullet moved around quite a bit inside him; as I said, there was a lot of tissue damage. There's a very strong possibility of infection, which is his biggest threat right now. We've got him on massive doses of these new antibiotics. I'd say if we can keep the infection away, he'll be okay."

There was a general sigh of relief.

"I understand there was a second bullet?" Deakins asked.

"Ah, yes. In the shoulder. Not life threatening; but it appears to have broken the clavicle in a couple pieces. We didn't operate; we wanted to get him out of surgery as soon as possible. He's pretty weak right now. We've got an excellent orthopedic surgeon on staff here who will look in on him later. Any other questions?"

"No, sir," Deakins answered respectfully. "Thank you very much." They all shook hands, and Dr. Adams allowed them to go see Bobby, for just a moment.

Although both Deakins and Alex had both seen hundreds of gunshot victims (both dead and alive) seeing Bobby like this startled them. Bobby was a big man, six foot four, but lying in this bed, hooked up to a ventilator with multiple tubes sticking out of him, well, somehow he seemed smaller and very vulnerable. There were gauze bandages on his still-broken shoulder where they had repaired just enough to stop the bleeding. Bobby's skin was very pale, a stark contrast to the dark curls lying damp on his forehead. It broke their hearts to see him like this. Alex took her hand and gently stroked his curls back, again and again. She just wanted to touch him, to know he was alive, and to somehow let him know she was here; that she'd always be here for him. "Just sleep, Bobby," she whispered to her unconscious partner. "You're going to be okay, Bobby. I'll make things right for you, I promise."

And Alex meant it. She was deeply saddened that someone would do this to Bobby, but coming from a family of cops she knew there was always the chance. And he was a cop, after all, and the bad guys were…well, the bad guys. But Bobby was different. There was another side of Bobby that the bad guys never saw…and they had shot this Bobby too. And this made Alex very angry. Unfortunately, Alex had no idea that danger still lurked, waiting for another shot at Bobby.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The characters of Robert Goren, Alex Eames, and James Deakins do not belong to me

The Informant Chapter 3

Leaving Bobby's room in the ICU with Alex, Deakins said "Hold on Alex," and headed to the desk. After speaking briefly to the nurse, he picked up the phone. The only word Alex heard was "guard".

Alex had been so concerned with Bobby's condition, it never occurred to her that Bobby's assailants might strike again. "We…we can't just leave him here like this," she told Deakins.

"Alex, I've got it covered. I've got a guard outside his door twenty-four/seven. He's perfectly safe. Now I'm taking _you _home. Get some sleep!"

"But—"

"No 'buts'. They're going to keep Bobby sedated for some time. It's a good time for you to get some sleep, too."

Alex finally agreed, but just for a while.

"Oh my God!" Alex said, holding her head in her hands.

"What? You all right?" Deakins asked, concerned.

"Bobby's Mom? I didn't—"

"Taken care of. I called Carmel Ridge earlier today. Her doctor's going to talk to her. Now I'm _taking _you home. Let's go!"

Captain Deakins then dropped Alex off at her apartment, watched till she entered, then went home to the comfort of his own wife.

Alex fully intended to make a cup of hot tea, and take a long, hot bath and try to relax away the troubles of the day. Instead she plopped down exhaustedly on her couch. She couldn't get Bobby's Mom out of her mind. What must it be like to be told that someone hated your son, your child, so much that they would hurt him so badly, that they would want to kill him? She couldn't imagine.

It was sometime after midnight when Bobby first awoke to his nightmare. It was very quiet and very dark, the only light coming from just above his head. He was only partially awake, in a sort of semi-conscious state, groggy and totally disoriented. He tried to move his head but something was restricting the movement…something was jammed in his mouth and throat, preventing him from moving his head. He had no idea what it was, and was beginning to get a little panicky. He tried jerking it out with his left hand, only…that wouldn't move either. More panic. His heart rate began to rise; alarms started going off everywhere. Somehow his right hand and arm, the only part of his body he could move, started tearing at the obstruction in his throat. Within moments, a nurse came running in, followed by a rather large orderly. The orderly quickly grabbed Bobby's arm to prevent him from jerking out the ventilator, while the nurse adjusted the meds in the iv, all the while repeating "You're okay, Bobby, you're okay. You're in a hospital. You're doing fine."

Seconds later, Bobby was back asleep.

It had now been nearly two days since Bobby had been shot, and at last there was a change in his condition. He was now breathing entirely on his own and was taken off the ventilator. His official status went from "very critical" condition to "critical", and would soon be taken off the drugs to keep him sedated.

Ramon Trillo had a plan, of sorts. Part of the plan was to do away with Nicky Jackson. Jackson was just an outright liability anyway; if Goren should survive, he could no doubt identify him, and that little stoolie Jackson would give Ramon up in a second. Plus, Nicky had to pay for his mistake. Nobody who worked for Ramon Trillo made a mistake like this, not if they intended to keep on living. Then there was Goren, himself. He'd had it in for Bobby Goren for some time now, ever since Goren had shut down one of Ramon's business ventures with his brother some time ago, back when Bobby was with Narcotics. Ramon's brother was in prison over that one. And the Trillo brothers wanted a little retaliation. So with Goren closing in on Ramon's drug business, well, the shooting became all the sweeter. The only question now was how to go about it. It wouldn't be easy making a "hit" in the hospital, too many people. There had to be a way…

This time when Nicky got the call from Ramon, he was not excited or nervous. He was _petrified._ Ramon had said he wanted to talk, set up a new plan. _New plan, my ass!_ Yeah, right! Although Nicky was not very bright, even _he_ knew something was up. Now Nicky was faced with three possibilities: he could lay low for a while and then skip town. That wouldn't work, even if he laid low forever, Ramon had an even longer memory. Or he could turn himself into the police now and beg for their mercy. That also wouldn't work, he'd be admitting he shot one of their own. His third choice was he could go after Bobby Goren again and somehow make it right with Ramon. Of the three options, number three sounded best. It was actually the only option.

When Bobby awoke for the second time, he was not alone. Alex was there.

He moaned a little, and Alex sat upright. "Bobby?"

He moaned again, and slowly opened his eyes. He was still disoriented and very groggy, but no longer in a semi-conscious state. And he still had no idea of what had happened. All he knew was that his body felt like it had been hit by a Mack truck, tossed into the air, then hit again on the way down.

"Al…ex?"

_Thank God!_ "It's about time," she told him.

Bobby managed a very slight smile. "What…happened?" he asked weakly.

"Shh, don't talk,' she told him. "I'll explain." And she told him briefly what she knew.

Bobby shifted his weight, trying to get a little comfortable. The action caused him considerable pain, and again he moaned softly.

"Bobby?" Alex said, alarmed. "Are you okay? Should I get someone?"

"I'm …okay," he said, breathing hard. "What the hell…is wrong with me?"

Alex was honest with him, all the while watching him. She could tell he was in a lot of pain. He was on painkillers, but these could only do so much. Any abdominal surgery is difficult, and Bobby's injuries had been extensive,. He also had use of just one arm, making it even harder to move. Unfortunately, the good arm was his right and Bobby was a lefty. Since his shoulder had yet to be repaired it remained a constant source of misery. Bobby was in for a pretty rough time.

Bobby closed his eyes; he was getting tired and Alex figured it was time to leave when Bobby said softly: "Nicky".

Alex could hardly hear him. "What? Bobby, I couldn't hear-"

"Nicky," he repeated sleepily. "It was Nicky."

Alex thought she still wasn't hearing him. _Nicky? That pinheaded little stoolie who thought he was the best thing to happen to the NYPD? _"Nicky Jackson? **That **Nicky!"

Bobby was drifting off again.

"Bobby!" Alex said urgently.

Bobby opened his eyes slowly and nodded ever so slightly. Then he was asleep again. Alex brushed the curls back again, and kissed him lightly on the forehead. Leaving the room, she nodded to the guard now on duty outside his door. The guard nodded back. Alex could hardly see his eyes; his hat was pulled down low. Alex hoped this guard was sharper than he looked.

Half way down the hall she remembered something she wanted to tell the guard. She turned to go back and —where the hell was he! It suddenly dawned on her, and gun drawn, she sprinted to Bobby's room. Bursting into the room she saw him, standing over Bobby, a gun shoved next to his head.

"Drop it!" Alex yelled.

The guard didn't even turn around. Alex heard the click as the gunman cocked the hammer. Not this time! And she shot him.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

The characters of Robert Goren, Alex Eames, and James Deakins do not belong to me.

The Informant Chapter 4

Ramon Trillo was dead.

The boom of the gun, and the impact throwing the guard against the bars on his bed shocked Bobby into wakefulness. Pure adrenaline shot him up onto his good elbow; there was blood on the bed, on the wall, and on Bobby.

Alex made her way to the guard, making sure that he wouldn't still attack them, wanting no last-minute mistakes. But Ramon Trillo was dead as dead could be.

"Are you okay?" She asked Bobby, seeing the blood on him and the look on his face.

"I…I think so," Bobby answered, grimacing in pain. "This (blood and matter) …is…all **him**, right?"

"I think so". Alex helped him to a sitting position, making sure, in fact, that it _was_ all Trillo.

A few of the night staff who weren't currently involved with other patients looked on curiously as Trillo's body was removed. There was a general air of excitement; this kind of thing happening here was rare. A search of the hospital, concentrating mainly on Bobby's floor, quickly turned up the body of the _real _guard in the housekeeping room. The guard had been stripped to his underwear, and there was a bullet in his head.

Bobby and Alex were both pretty much shell-shocked, especially Bobby. This was the second attempt on his life in three days, this time by a completely different person, which led to the question: how many more attempts would there be?

"It had to be **him**," Bobby said, meaning Trillo. Bobby was now completely awake; after this experience he'd be awake for quite a while now. "He had to be the one who initiated it (the hit). He's the one I was going to have a little talk with, see if I could rattle him a little. Somehow he got wind of it."

"Looks like he got rattled, all right," Alex commented.

"Probably got wind of it from Jackson," Deakins offered. He had joined them in Bobby's new room after the shooting and subsequent police investigation.

"Maybe," Bobby said. "Maybe…" Bobby seemed a little down. A regular person would have been _a lot_ down after barely surviving two attempts on their life. But Bobby had always kept his emotions in check when it came to himself. He didn't let a lot of people in, and he fully intended that he would bother neither Alex nor Deakins with his problems. They had already gone way out of their way for him.

Alex and Deakins exchanged a glance. They knew that this sort of thing could throw a person into a real tailspin; they'd have to remind the staff to keep an eye on him.

A regular police investigation into the events ensued. Internal Affairs also

investigated and found no wrongdoing on Alex's part. It was a "good shoot". That was important to Alex; she did come from a cop family. But had it gone the other way, had she "officially" been in the wrong, she would not have cared. The important thing was that Bobby, her partner, was still alive. And that was all that mattered.

Meanwhile, Bobby's physical recovery was coming along, but was extremely frustrating. He was now able to get up and down, but required a lot of help. It was still very painful, and he still had only the use of his right arm. This was probably the most frustrating thing of all. If he could use _both _arms, he'd be able to get up by himself, albeit painfully. But at least he wouldn't have to ask for help. And the fact that the injured arm was his left just added insult to injury, literally. Bobby was actually looking forward to the surgery. He just wanted things back to normal.

Bobby's mental condition, however, was not as good. He always figured that at some point in time getting shot was part of the game. Especially when you're in law enforcement in a city as large as New York. But he hadn't figured on being the outright victim of a hit. But for the grace of God (and some excellent surgeons) he'd be dead. And that made him very angry. And the fact that this hit was personal (unlike a shoot out or an accident) unfortunately brought up unresolved issues from his past. All the times when as a small boy he'd been a victim. As the child of a schizophrenic mother and an alcoholic father, he'd been the object of their violent outbursts. He'd been the object of the other children's taunts and ridicule. Ostracized and alone, he'd had no one to talk to, no one to turn to, and no one to help him. He'd learned to get by on his own, to need no one but himself. Ever. And he was lonely, very lonely. To this day, Bobby trusted no one with his feelings. He wanted,_ needed_, to talk to someone, but he couldn't. Not even to Alex. And this made him even sadder.

"Bobby?" Alex came into the room to find Bobby standing by the window, where a nurse had left him. Bobby continued to stare out the window.

"Are you alright?" Alex asked, concerned. "Do you need some help?"

"No," Bobby said evenly. 'Help' was the last thing he wanted. Finally he turned to look at her. "I think…I just want to be alone."

"I don't think being alone _is _what you need. You think too much, Bobby. You need to give yourself a break—"

Bobby stared at Alex, and for a moment felt the urge to cry. He wanted to talk to her so badly, to tell her, to tell _anyone_, just how bad he was hurting, physically and mentally. To make it all go away. But it wouldn't come out. And it never would. So instead he repeated, "I just need to be alone." His tone of voice left no doubt that that was the way it would be.

Alex just nodded. "Okay, Bobby. See you tomorrow?"

Bobby didn't answer. He just stared out the window again.

After Alex left, Bobby was furious with himself. He'd done it again, turned away someone who wanted to help him. _Why do I do this! Why can't I talk to anyone!_ Bobby angrily punched the wall, hurting the one hand that was working. This made him even angrier.

The only bright spot on the horizon that Bobby could see was that he was now declared strong enough for surgery. That was good news. Once that was over he'd be well on his way to recovery. Then he'd go after that son-of-a-bitch Nicky Jackson himself. Maybe **that **would help his mood a little.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

The characters of Goren, Eames, and Deakins do not belong to me 

The Informant Chapter 5

Bobby was in the throes of depression. He was sad, and he was angry (the main ingredients of clinical depression). He knew why he was angry, being shot had a tendency to make one angry, but he wasn't sure why he was so sad. He figured part of it was that he had been doublecrossed; he had trusted Nicky and paid for it dearly. And _that _had a tendency to make one a little wary; Bobby had started to lose some of his trust in people. The depression, which unfortunately had a way of tainting one's outlook on life, also instilled in him an apathetic attitude. He was getting to where he really didn't care much about anything, or feel that others really, truthfully, cared about him. And why should they? He knew what he was, someone who was so unlovable that his own father either was completely indifferent to him, or abused him and later abandoned him; his mother had never been able to care for him, either; she tried, but she was schizophrenic and had her own problems. No one had ever really cared for him; that's just the way it went. And a big part of his sadness stemmed from that, and it was manifesting itself in his adult life.

Robert Goren, detective extraordinaire, extremely efficient, sometimes arrogant but always passionate, was caught up in the lonely world of depression. And he needed help.

A few days later, Bobby's doctor, Dr. Adams, came by Bobby's room on morning rounds along with another doctor.

"Morning, Bobby," Adams said pleasantly. "How are you today?"

"Not too bad."

"How's the mental outlook?" Adams asked pointedly.

"Fine," Bobby said, a trifle annoyed.

Adams looked at the tray of food still sitting on Bobby's bed tray, untouched except for the coffee. "Not hungry today?"

"Just don't like hospital food," Bobby answered.

Adams stared at him for a moment, then said, "how about if I set you up to see Doctor –-"

"No," Bobby said simply.

"You do know what depression is, how it works?"

"Would you like the psychiatric clinical definition, or the simple layman's term?" Bobby asked cynically.

"Alright," Adams said. "We'll talk about that later. But I _am_ going to put you on some anti- depressants for a while, and we'll see how that goes. In the meantime, you ready to get that shoulder fixed?"

"Hell, yeah!" Bobby said, with a little excitement in his voice. But just a little.

"Well, then, this is Doctor Ghiradi. Doctor Ghiradi, Detective Bobby Goren. Doctor Ghiradi will be performing your surgery."

The two men shook hands, and Ghiradi looked once more at Bobby's chart. "Looks like you've had a rough go of it…"

Bobby didn't comment.

"We'll need to run a few more tests today," Ghiradi continued, "and see if we can get you in surgery…tomorrow? How's that?"

"That'd be great," Bobby replied._ Finally._

Later that evening, on her way home from work, Alex Eames stopped by for her nightly visit. They chatted a little, mostly about work, Alex doing most of the talking. Bobby was very quiet. Alex was concerned, she'd never seen him like this before. One of the things Alex told him was the latest on Nicky Jackson.

"He's laying low," Alex said. "We've got feelers out, but nobody seems to know anything."

Bobby just nodded.

"But at least he won't be coming here. We've got more police here than _they've_ got patients."

That got a slight smile from Bobby, which pleased Alex. She was hoping for an outright laugh, but she'd take the little smile.

"He'll turn up," Bobby said. He grimaced, and unconsciously reached for his shoulder, which was really hurting.

Watching him, Alex asked, "So, any news on when they're going to take care of that shoulder?"

"They…uh… ran some tests today," Bobby said vaguely.

"Really? What'd they say? So when's it gonna be?"

Bobby got even quieter. Finally he said, "It's tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? That's great!" Alex said. "So when were you going to tell me? I have to tell the Captain, he'll want to be here, too—"

"You don't have to be here," Bobby said unemotionally.

"I know that—"

"There's no need for _anyone_ to be here."

"Bobby," Alex said, exasperated, "Of course I'm going to be here. I'm not going to let you go through—"

"I'd prefer no one be here," Bobby repeated. "I can pretty much take care of myself." He turned to stare out the window.

Alex was shocked. Where was this coming from? "Fine! If that's the way you want it!"

"That's the way I want it."

Alex was pissed. "Guess I'll be leaving then." She started for the door, then turned back angrily. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe —just maybe—there might be people out there who care for you, truly care for you? Who can see that you're hurting, and want to help?"

"I don't need anyone's help."

"Maybe if you'd just once let someone in—"

"Eames—"

Alex started for the door again. "Good luck with your surgery, Bobby. I guess I'll see you later." And she was out the door.

Once Alex had gotten to the parking lot she calmed down. She could see there really was something wrong with him; he'd told her they started him on anti-depressants. She didn't know what else to do, except wait for them to start taking effect and hope he made it till then.

Bobby was angry, too. Why should he have to let anyone "in"? What good could it possibly do to burden others with his problems? Nobody really understood him anyway. Alex "got" him better than anyone, but even she couldn't really understand. How could she? She'd been brought up in a normal family with two loving parents who cared for, and supported their children both physically and mentally. Hell, she was so well adjusted, she once told him, that she'd been elected prom queen, for God's sake! He, on the other hand, had barely survived his childhood. But survive he did, and on his own, too, and he wasn't about to ask for help now, not at this stage of the game.

He thought about the upcoming surgery. Part of his clavicle had been completely destroyed by the bullet; they were going to have to do a bone graft, and attach it all with a metal plate and screws. Nothing about his ordeal had been easy, and this was no exception. Nicky Jackson had gotten him good.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Come on, Robert, wake up!" the nurse was gently trying to get Bobby to wake up after his surgery. But Bobby didn't want to wake up, he was so tired, so wore out, and both his body and mind wanted sleep.

"Robert! Wake up! C'mon, Robert."

_Damn you're getting on my nerves.._

But it worked. He was awake now, not necessarily happy about it, but awake from the surgery, although still under the very sleepy effect of the anesthetic.

He again tried to move his arm. It still didn't work, but the reason was that now it was splinted in such a way as to prohibit any movement.

As they wheeled him back to his regular room, drifting in and out of sleep, he wondered vaguely if Eames would be waiting for him. In actuality, Bobby wanted her to be there. In his depressed state of mind he thought of this as a kind of test. Was she angry enough to blow him off when he said he didn't want her there? Or did she know him well enough to know he really wanted her there? If she truly cared about him, like she said, she'd be here, despite his protests.

As they got to his room, and moved him onto his own bed, Bobby tried to look around. He was falling in and out of sleep, but he didn't see her.

"Eames!" he called out. There was no answer.

Alex was not there.

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

The characters of Goren, Eames and Deakins do not belong to me.

The Informant Chapter 6

Bobby had barely been asleep fifteen minutes when he was awakened by a loud commotion outside his door. He could make out two distinct voices.

"He's sleeping, you can't—"

"Don't tell me what I can and cannot do! I'm his mother!"

Now Bobby was really awake, but felt like he was dreaming, as in marched his mother followed by an amused Alex and Deakins, and a rather putout nurse.

Bobby struggled to sit up, and Deakins quickly supported him, while the nurse raised his bed to a sitting position.

What…how?" was all Bobby could manage.

"Sorry we're late getting here," Deakins said, "but after the surgery your Mom wanted to stop by the gift shop."

With that, Mrs. Goren came to her son's side and kissed him on his curly head. "Bobby, this is for you; my son, the Detective," she said proudly, and presented him with a gift. It was a hokey little blue bear with "NYPD" embroided on it, the kind of thing you found at every souvenir stand on every corner in the city. She put the little bear in his hand. He looked at it and his mother, then reached up with his good arm to hug her. "Thank you, Mom. It's… the best present I ever received." And he meant it.

Mrs. Goren looked pleased. She was hoping Bobby would like it.

Bobby then looked questioningly at Alex and the Captain. "Thank you. But… how…how'd you manage it?"

"Well, we spoke to your Mom's doctors," Alex explained, "and since she was currently doing well, but very worried about you, her doctors decided to give her a half-day pass, in our care. And since you couldn't visit her…Captain picked her up early this morning."

Bobby was a little overwhelmed.

Deakins pulled a chair up closer to Bobby's bed and helped Mrs. Goren into it.

"There you go, Mrs. Goren, you just visit with your son." Then to Bobby:

"We spoke to your doctor right after the surgery; he'll be up later," Deakins said. "But it sounds like your surgery was a success."

Bobby nodded, as Alex continued, "But you are going to need therapy, and lots of it," Alex continued. And you _will_ do it, cause if you think I'm getting stuck with all the paperwork…"

"It _did _cross my mind," Bobby said, making a slight joke for the first time in what seemed like months.

They visited for about an hour more, then left to let Bobby get some rest.

And Mrs. Goren's pass was about to run out.

"Please take care of yourself, Bobby," Mrs. Goren told her son, kissing him again. I worry about you…."

"I will, Mom. Don't worry, okay?"

He watched as they started for the door, Deakins holding her arm. Bobby wondered what she'd be like the next time he saw her, grateful that she was lucid now. Would she even remember this? Alex started to follow, but Bobby called her back.

"Eames…I'm…I'm…sorry," Bobby said, looking at her with dark puppy dog eyes.

Alex couldn't resist those eyes. "I know," she said. "It's okay."

"No, Eames, it's not. I don't know what's wrong with me. Something is. What I _do_ know is that I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry."

"Bobby, we both know what it is. And you do know what to do about it. If you want our partnership to continue as it's always been, you have to get better. Physically _and_ emotionally. I'm just asking you to talk to me, Bobby. Talk to Deakins. Talk to _somebody_!"

Bobby lowered his eyes. He knew she was right. "I'll…try," he promised. "And Eames…thank you."

Alex started to say something, but Bobby continued, "I mean…for everything…"

'You're welcome, Bobby." She kissed the top of his head. "Just get better," she said, starting again for the door. "See you tomorrow."

After they were gone, Bobby laid back, contemplating the events of the day, which actually could not have gone better. He was truly grateful to Eames and Deakins for bringing his mother up, and decided that there were at least three people who did care about him. And, they had shown up for the surgery… This actually put him on sort of a temporary high. Depression had its peaks and valleys, mostly valleys, with just the occasional peak. And he would crash; but for now he would enjoy the good feeling.

Today's events certainly wouldn't going to cure his depression, but it would give him a good starting point on his road to recovery. Bobby's physical injuries would heal long before his emotional ones, but he was determined; he would really work on getting better.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

About a week later Bobby was released from the hospital, complete with prescriptions for pain, and for depression, and an appointment with the hospital shrink. He'd already had one appointment, which had gone okay, they weren't into the heavy stuff yet. At that first session the doctor saw that Bobby had some deep personal issues that he wasn't quite ready to deal with yet. And he told Bobby that keeping it all in kept Bobby in its power. The more he let it out, the less powerful these issues would become. It was something to think about.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

As much as Bobby always looked forward to being off, he found that it wasn't all that it was cracked up to be. He was getting around pretty good now, although slowly, and his left arm was still splinted, making it difficult to get anything done. But he could read. He could never get enough of that. Bobby was like a sponge. He absorbed everything, took in every detail; nothing escaped his keen sense of observation. And his computer-like mind processed it all, putting it in places in his mind where he could easily access it when needed. (which was one reason he was such a good detective.) So he read. He occasionally watched tv, mainly "The History Channel" and sometimes "The Discovery Channel" if there was something interesting. He took walks, starting out slowly and working his way up. He was getting stronger everyday. But he was bored. He was chomping at the bit to get back to work. He missed the excitement of solving crimes, the satisfaction of putting the bad guys away, and he missed his partner.

Bobby was finally released to go back to work, nearly 3 months after being shot, on the condition that he stayed inside 1 Police Plaza for a week or two, before going back to any of the more physical work. He would get to do the dreaded paperwork. He also had to be seen by the police psychiatrist, a requirement for anyone who'd been violently injured on the job. That wasn't a problem, Bobby knew all the right words. With the other guy, well it wasn't going quite as well. Bobby still refused to open up.

On Bobby's first day back they had a cake, and a banner that read "Welcome Back!" A few of the guys gave him pats on the back (avoiding his shoulder), and shook his hand. They were genuinely glad to have him back, and happy that he was okay. Bobby was a little embarrassed by it all, but accepted it all gratefully. And he _really_ liked the cake.

When Bobby got to his desk (his desk and Eames' were pushed together, facing each other) he saw Alex on her side, and a rather large pile of papers on his.

"Just wanted to help you get that arm toned up, Lefty," she teased him.

Bobby nodded his "thanks." "And after today, it _should_ be," he teased back. The pile of papers was _huge_.

Bobby sat down at his desk and started in on the papers, stopping only when his shoulder began hurting. He'd use this time to get coffee for himself and Alex, then started in again. Periodically, he'd reach for his shoulder unconsciously.

Seeing this, Alex asked, "Hurting?"

"A little," Bobby admitted. "They said it would."

Alex nodded, and went back to her own paperwork. Every once in a while, she'd glance up at him, and think how close she'd come to losing him. And every time, she thanked God.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Bobby had finally started to open up a little more in therapy. He had, with utter shame, told the psyche doctor, Roberts, about some of his innermost feelings, some of his fears, and of some childhood happenings that Bobby was also ashamed to admit still affected him to this day.

He told Dr. Roberts about his fear of being ambushed by Nicky Jackson again. He told him about his chaotic childhood; his father's abuse and indifference, his mother's schizophrenia and all the turmoil surrounding that, his rejection by his peers. But the doctor sensed there was something else. And it was, to Bobby, the most shameful thing of all.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

The Informant Chapter 7 -- Conclusion

The characters of Robert Goren, Alexandra Eames, and James Deakins do not belong to me.

Doctor Roberts waited patiently as an agitated Bobby paced the room.

_Why can't I just say it, for God's sake! Why the hell should I care what he thinks anyway? Or what anyone thinks? Just _say _it_!

But Bobby _did_ care. And he really wanted to talk about it, to have someone know what really happened that day. So Bobby slowly started his tale. He never did look at the doctor, just continued pacing.

Finally, taking a deep breath, "I was… was just a kid then… about 9, I think, maybe 10, I don't know. I was with this other kid from school, Richie." Bobby paused for a minute, remembering. "Richie was my one real friend, one of the few kids who were allowed to play with me…ya know, cause of my mom. And…we…I… just fucked up."

Doctor Roberts nodded his head, encouraging him.

"We weren't supposed to be there…down at the piers. But we were there, goofing around…and somehow—I still don't know how—Richie fell in. I…I didn't know what to do…I started yelling for help, I tried climbing down to him…and I fell in. I nearly drowned, but they got _me_ out—somehow—but they couldn't find Richie. Not till two days later." Bobby's voice was very low, barely audible. "I wish…it had been me," Bobby said softly, his eyes stinging with tears. "I…tried to save him, tried to get back to the water, but they were holding me back… wouldn't let me…"

Doctor Roberts just waited until Bobby was ready again.

After a while, Bobby continued. "It was my fault, we shouldn't have been there… Richie never would've been there if I—"

"Bobby," the doctor interrupted. "You were kids. Richie had a choice, and he _chose _to go with you."

Bobby stared at him bleakly. "His parents didn't think so. They blamed me; everybody did. Said they knew they never should have let him hang around with me. And Dad…well…he just beat the shit out of me everyday for a month." Bobby paused again. "Nobody cared that I almost drowned going after him. And nobody cared how I felt about my best friend drowning. I wanted to die, too."

Bobby sat down heavily, head in hands. Doctor Roberts gave him a few minutes to compose himself. Then Bobby looked up with the saddest eyes, and said, "The thing is…it _was _my fault. I just wish it had been me," he repeated.

That therapy session lasted quite a bit longer than usual. By the end of it, Bobby realized a number of things: why the recent attack on his life brought up memories of his own near-drowning and his friend's death, why he felt like his own life was not important enough for others to care about, and mostly, that just because things were like that back then didn't mean they had to be that way now.

Another thing he discovered, much to his astonishment, was that, after telling his story, he actually felt _better_. Like releasing the valve on a pressure cooker.

As Bobby left, Dr. Roberts told him, "Your job, now, is to talk."

Back at 1PP things were pretty much back to normal. Bobby and Alex had already gotten into their normal daily routine. But there were still some things Bobby had to do.

They were sitting at their desks, discussing a case and looking over the files.

Bobby seemed very distracted, couldn't seem to focus, totally unlike himself. Every once in a while, Alex would look up to find him looking at her, then he'd quickly look away. Finally, she couldn't take it any more.

"Bobby, is there something you need?" she asked.

"No…"

"Anything wrong?"

"No," Bobby said, shaking his head.

She sighed, and went back to her case file.

It was almost quitting time. "Uh, Eames?" Bobby started.

Alex looked up. "Yeah, Bobby?"

"Are you doing anything tonight?"

Alex thought for a minute. "Nope, not a thing. Just going to heat up some leftover pizza, have a beer or two, and go to bed early."

"Would you mind if I came over for a while?"

"Come on over. I'm pretty sure there's enough pizza, and I know there's enough beer. Something up?"

Then Bobby said the words Alex had waited a long time for.

"There's just something I've been needing to do…do you think tonight we could talk? I mean, really _talk_?

There was one other thing that still had to be addressed, and it wasn't something the doctor could fix: Bobby's attacker was still on the loose. It had been over 3 months now, and there was still no sign of that bastard. While Bobby had been laid up in the hospital, what few leads MCS did have had all turned cold. There was no way of knowing if Nicky had left the city, was just laying low, or worse, if and when he planned on going after Bobby again. It was a little unnerving to know that someone who had already tried once to kill you was still out there, just waiting for the right opportunity.

Bobby had a decision to make. If he wanted to stay in law enforcement, he'd have to let go of all that. He couldn't wait around forever for Nicky to show up and make the first move; he'd go crazy. So Bobby himself was now going to pursue Nicky, and he _would_ catch up with him. He just hoped that when they did meet, this time it would be Nicky Jackson on the wrong side of a bullet. And that was going to happen sooner than expected. As it turns out, it would all come about through the information from another informant.

At first Deakins had given Bobby flak about him and Eames going after Jackson, the usual stuff about being "too close" to the subject. Bobby objected vehemently, arguing correctly that so far the others on this case had made no progress. Deakins had to give him that point, and allowed him to take over the case. Besides, as Deakins knew, when Bobby was intent on something, he'd never take "no" for an answer.

"Try not to go off all hell bent on revenge," he told him, only half-jokingly.

As an adult, Bobby had some friends and acquaintances in both reputable and marginal lines of work, and he called on some of them to put out "feelers". It was only a matter of time before he'd get a lead.

A few days later, the call came in.

"Hey, Goren," Jonsey, another detective called over, "Line one,"

Bobby hurried over to pick up line one at his desk. "Goren," he said into the mouthpiece.

Silence.

"Goren here," Bobby repeated.

After a minute, a voice finally asked, "uh…is this Detective Goren?"

"Yes it is. What can I do for you?"

"Detective _Robert _Goren?"

"Yes it is," Bobby said louder, rubbing his temples. "What can I do for you?"

The voice got a little cockier. "The question is, what can I do for you, and how much you gonna pay?"

Bobby snapped his fingers to get Jonsey's attention, indicting he wanted this call traced. "Okay, let's talk."

Bobby and Alex, wearing vests, were to meet this new informant, (on "loan" from the Newark, N.J police department) at "The Deli" on Broad Street in Newark. This particular guy, Marty, had known Nicky, and what Nicky was wanted for, for a while now. He didn't particularly have any use for cops himself, and the only reason he was giving Nicky up now was to keep his own ass out of jail. He had planned on lying, just a little, to help out his buddy.

Taking in Bobby's 6'4" frame, he said, "Damn! 'Ol Nicky must have bigger cajones than I thought, taking you on."

"Yeah," Alex said caustically. "It takes really big ones to ambush someone."

"He did tell you it was an ambush, right?" Bobby asked. "And now _you're_ gonna tell us the truth. Or I could show you just how big _my_ cajones are," Bobby said menacingly. Bobby could be very intimidating.

Marty gave Nicky up in a second.

Next stop: "Frankie's Place", a run down strip club in east Newark. The obnoxious neon sign out front, flashing non-stop, read, "LIVE GIRLS! ALL NUDE! ALL NIGHT!"

"Classy," Alex remarked sarcastically. "At least the girls are live. That's a plus."

Bobby just looked at her.

Then Bobby and Alex, accompanied by a few of the local police, split up. Alex went around back, to cut off any possible escape. Bobby went in the front.

Inside "Frankie's", it was dingy and smoky. There were only a few patrons, and currently on stage, a very bored "live" naked girl. With the exception of the girl, it reminded Bobby of the place where Nicky had first shot him. Then Bobby spotted him.

Nicky was sitting at a table in front, drinking and making crude comments to the girl, who was totally ignoring him.

Bobby felt a rage rising inside him like he'd never felt before. His Glock was fully extended, aimed straight at Nicky.

"Nicky!" Bobby called.

Nicky turned around and froze, turning white. He thought he was seeing a ghost.

"How ya doing, Nicky?" Bobby asked, not really interested in how Nicky was doing.

"Wha.." was all he could get out, then he quickly drew his gun. But Bobby was waiting for him, and expertly shot Nicky's gun hand. The gun went flying, and Nicky started screaming.

Bobby moved surprisingly quick for a man his size. Like a cat, he was on Nicky.

The shot brought Alex and the other police running in. Alex went quickly to Bobby, while the police hung in the back.

Bobby had his gun and Nicky's head up against the wall. Nicky was screaming about his shot wrist, and the fact that Bobby's gun was about to bore a hole in his head.

"What's it feel like Nicky! Does it hurt!" Bobby was enraged. "DOES IT HURT!"

"Yes! It hurts! Yes!" Nicky cried.

Bobby was so completely consumed with fury he was trembling. The trigger finger on his gun hand was shaking as he pushed even harder on Nicky's head. Nicky was still screaming, crying, begging for his life. Bobby chambered around the Glock, his finger pressing lightly on the trigger.

"BOBBY." Alex said his name, calmly and firmly. "BOBBY, it's okay. We've got him now."

Slowly, ever so slowly, Bobby lowered his gun, his hand still trembling. Then he handcuffed the terrified Nicky, a little roughly, making sure to give a little extra twist to Nicky's gunshot arm.

As Nicky was read his rights, it became obvious that "secret agent man" Nicky Jackson had lost all control of his bodily functions.

Alex wrinkled her nose, and gave him a disgusted look.

Bobby, totally repulsed by Nicky in every possible way, said "Just get him out of my sight." And the cops lead the blubbering mess called Nicky Jackson away.

Watching him being taken away, hopefully to a long prison sentence, Alex turned to Bobby. "Well, we got him, Bobby."

"We sure did," Bobby said, looking down at his partner. And he actually smiled.

The End.


End file.
